Knock Me Off My Feet (10 page)

Well, now the letters truly scared her. And she was angry that they'd invaded her life, made her worry, made her wrack her brain trying to figure out who in the world would want to hurt her.

Her stomach churned. Her head hurt. She felt very alone.

She knew the list of suspects she gave to Quinn was a waste of time. Will
Dalton
? He was an absentminded professor type—intelligent and wickedly funny but completely benign. The only thing that ever riled him was his belief that the American family had been destroyed by commercial television. Outside that topic, Audie never encountered a bit of passion in the man.

Darren Billings? He wasn't literate enough to write those notes. The letters just dripped with sarcasm, something he couldn't spell, let alone convey.

Kyle Singer was smart enough. Certainly snide enough. But he had no reason to send those letters—he couldn't have cared less for Audie and immediately had found someone else to escort to public functions. She'd been nothing to him but a distraction for the rumormongers.

Russell Ketchum was already ruled out. And
Griffin
was not even a possibility.

And Tim Burke. God, she wished he'd stop bugging her, but she doubted it was him. The letters didn't sound like Tim. His talent lay in putting a super-duper spin on just anything and everything! Audie could see Tim writing the press release for the grand reopening of the Union Carbide plant in
Bhopal
, but not those letters.

How pitiful that list looked when she put it in writing—six men in ten years, and yes, she'd left out a few nearly anonymous encounters she'd rather forget. But that list was the truth. It was fact. And if her love life was baseball, she'd have mighty lame stats: Six at bats. Six errors. Maybe a couple blooper singles but definitely no homers, no stolen bases, and no runs batted in.

Audie took a sip of her iced tea and sighed. She supposed she'd seen something she wanted in each of those men—wit in Will Dalton, an amazing body in Darren Billings, determination in Russell Ketchum, savvy intelligence in Kyle Singer, charm in Tim Burke, and a good heart and a killer smile in Griffin.

And she supposed some of them found something worthwhile in her, but it never seemed right enough. It never amounted to anything special.

Audie felt her stomach clench with dread. Realistically, if it wasn't one of those men, then who else could it be?

It could be her brother.

Oh, God, Drew. Why?

Audie stared out the window wistfully. No, she and Drew weren't exactly close, and she didn't especially admire her brother for his moral fortitude. But she never thought of him as a cruel person or an evil person.

Besides, why in the world would Drew do something like this? What would it accomplish? If he had something to say, why didn't he just come right out and say it?

Helen's will had stipulated that if Audie quit the column after the current contract expired, she had two choices—she could either give it to Drew or sell the rights and split the profits with him fifty-fifty.

Audie knew that Drew would never want the responsibility of the column. All his life, he'd avoided work like it was a flesh-eating disease. So was he trying
to
force her to sell so he could get his hands on half the assets? Was he that desperate for money these days? And if so, why didn't he just tell her what he needed?

Her brain hurt just trying to sort this out. Her heart hurt at the idea that her brother would do this to her.

Audie was startled out of her thoughts by the sudden appearance of
Griffin
's face, his nose and lips squished up against the window glass.

"You're so strange," she mouthed to him, laughing, watching as he jogged into the door of the restaurant.

He was there in a flash, depositing a kiss on her cheek before he slid into the opposite side of the booth, his laptop slung over his shoulder and his smile brightening the whole room. He held something in his hand.

"The UPS guy brought this." He reached over the table and handed Audie a package the size of a hardback novel.

She stared at the return address—Detective Stacey Quinn.

"Since it came from him and it wasn't ticking, I figured it was safe enough."
Griffin
was grinning. "You going to open it?"

Audie just stared at the plain brown paper package. What in the world would he be sending her? She hadn't seen him in a week. Stanny-O had been with her instead, explaining that Quinn was busy wrapping up other work while interviewing suspects in her case.
Right.

She knew very well what had happened—she'd thrown herself at Quinn, made a fool of herself, practically begged the man to put his hands up her dress. She'd scared him
off.

Maybe he was sending her some kind of self-help
book
—Nympho to Nun in Ten Easy Steps
or
Promiscuous No More.

"Audie? You going to open it?"

She looked up at
Griffin
and blinked. "Yeah. Sure."

Her fingers tore at the outside wrapping to reveal a simple white gift box. She set it down on the table and pulled off the top, exposing a layer of white tissue paper. She looked up at
Griffin
, frowning.

"Don't look at me. Go on, girl."

Audie peeled back the tissue, to see what looked like handkerchiefs—pressed white linen hankies trimmed with delicate lace.

"Good Lord," Audie muttered, and
Griffin
leaned across the table to get a better look.

"Wow. Those are pretty. Aren't you going to read the note?"

Audie picked up the piece of folded stationery and read: "So you don't ruin all your panty hose. Quinn."

She chuckled, surprised, to say the least. She picked up one of the hankies and held it in her hand—it was soft, feather-light, and feminine. It was lightly starched and ironed into a neat square with razor-sharp edges. She raised
it
to her nose and breathed in a soft scent, lavender maybe? Just then she saw
Griffin
's hand inside the box.

"I counted eleven in here, so there's an even dozen. I think they're really old, Audie, antique even. Look at the lace—it's handmade."

"How would you know,
Griffin
?" Audie laughed and tossed the hankie back in the box, replacing the lid.

"Because I spend half my life haunting consignment stores and antique shops, that's how. This is a really nice gift."

"Yeah." She pushed the box to the side and took a gulp of her iced tea. Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were stinging.

Why would Quinn send her such a personal gift? They hardly knew each other! And why was she on the verge of tears?

They ordered lunch and talked companionably, but Audie felt
Griffin
studying her, and it made her a little uncomfortable. She gazed out over the brass curtain rod toward the street, letting the sunshine hit her face. When she turned back he was still staring at her, frowning.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just …
nothing."

"Griff, what? What is it? Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"Nah, not at all." He shook his head with a sad smile and Audie watched his dreadlocks tap against the sides of his face. "I just plan to tell the detectives the truth—that I only stalk you on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons and I'm more of an obscene phone-callin' man myself, not some anonymous-note-writin' wimp."

Audie leaned forward and admired his sweet face. "I've told Quinn all about you—about us—and he knows you're not really a suspect, so don't worry."

Griffin
's eyebrows shot high on his forehead. "God, mon, I hope I'm not."

"So what's the problem, then? You look upset."

Griffin
reached out and cupped his hand over Audie's and tried to smile. "I was just watching you sitting there, and I was thinking that I've never seen you more beautiful than you are right now—that you seem wiser, more sure of yourself, such a lovely woman."

Audie was shocked by this unusual burst of sentiment. "Uh, thanks."

"And I've never seen you sadder." He removed his hand and leaned back in the booth. "I really hate these letters, you know? I hate what they're doing to you, girl. Whoever is sending them is one sick mother, and I'm worried about you."

Audie exhaled deeply and produced a weak smile. "They're talking to Drew, too. Did I tell you?"

Griffin
laughed. "I'd pay good money to eavesdrop on that party."

"Mmm…
"
Audie looked down into her iced tea.

"So what's the story with the Mighty Quinn? How much do you like him?"

Her head popped up and her mouth hung open. "How…? What do you mean?"

Griffin
smiled affectionately. "Damn, girl! How long have I known you? You've got a crush on your policeman, at the very least. So tell me all about it."

She shook her head, looking outside again.

"Audie. Come on."

She scowled at him. "I'm thirty years old,
Griffin
. Thirty-year-old women don't get crushes."

"Fine." He stared at her, unblinking.

She stared right back.

"All right. Since you asked, Stacey Quinn aggravates the hell out of me, OK? We've had these two extremely awkward groping sessions, including falling off a table. But that's it—not that I don't think about the possibilities every second of every day."

Griffin
blinked rapidly and leaned back in his booth. "Really now?"

"And he doesn't talk a whole lot, which bugs me to no end, but when he does say something it either pisses me off or makes me laugh." She sighed. "We've got nothing in common, all right? And,
Griffin
, the guy's house is immaculate and his spices are alphabetized, and I can't stop thinking about him."

"I see."

"And out of nowhere he can be so sweet—like sending me these!" She waved her hand over the box, her eyes wide. "And the way he kisses me—my God …
two kisses, that's all I've had, but … oh, God, they made me forget my own name…

"And now I haven't seen him for days and days. I keep trying to come up with some excuse to call him, but I haven't gotten any more letters and Detective Oleskiewicz has been taking me home every night and it's like Quinn doesn't want to see me ever again and I don't know what to do."

Griffin
gawked at her.

"But don't push me to talk about it,
Griffin
. I just can't right now."

He buried a smile in his coffee cup. "Of course."

"He makes me crazy. Completely insane. And I miss him. I'm lonely for him. What is
that
all about? Is that the stupidest thing you've ever heard me say, or what?"

Griffin
leaned forward on his elbows and studied her carefully. "You're right, Audie. This is not a crush. It sounds like you're in love with the man."

Her mouth hung open and she blinked. "Oh, for God's sake," she said, standing up. "You know me better than that. I'm going to the ladies' room."

Griffin
watched her start off in a huff, catch her heel in his computer shoulder strap, and crash into the unoccupied table for two across the aisle. He winced, then rubbed his mouth nervously until she was safely on her way.

"Be careful, girl," he whispered.

* * *

Audie drove the car along the semicircular brick drive and parked in front of the grand front door. The imposing brick-and-stucco Tudor looked exactly as it always had, as formal and as haughty as North Shore houses come, the thin steel blue line of Lake Michigan visible behind the heavily treed grounds.

She knocked on the door.

"Well, what an unexpected pleasure this is!" Andrew Adams swept his arm through the airy foyer as his sister scowled at him.

"I thought you knew I was coming."

"Oh, sure. I'm just teasing you. Come on in. Drink?"

"No thanks."

Apparently, the divorce was final, because it seemed a few more items had gone missing from the family estate: the antique Portuguese vase that had always sat beneath the hall table was gone, and so were the Impressionist landscape from the top of the landing, a mirror, and a few lamps.

Either these items were part of the latest ex-wife's settlement or Drew had been reduced to selling things for cash. Audie didn't care much either way. They were just things—Drew's things. He could do whatever he liked with them.

Drew handed her what looked like a gin and tonic. "Relax, Audie. How's the column going? How's soccer this season? How's Russell?"

Audie stared at the drink in her hand, carried it patiently to the bar, and set it down. Her brother had already deposited himself in a slip-covered chair, looking quite self-satisfied.